


About Janine

by azriona



Series: Advent Calendar Drabbles 2015 [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a cozy winter night on Sussex Downs, and someone knocks on Janine's door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About Janine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GentleSpirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleSpirit/gifts).



> Day Four of the Advent Calendar Drabbles for 2015. Today's prompt is from gentlespirit, who requested something with Janine. Mary is a bonus.

The knock on the door takes Janine by surprise.  Night fell hours before, and the snow started not long after.  She’s been curled up in her chair, bundled in her softest pajamas and wrapped up so well in the afghan her grandmother knitted when she was sixteen that it takes Janine a few minutes to unravel and make her way to the door.

 

She opens it without bothering to look – because Janine has never been one for taking notes during horror movies, and honestly, attacking the single woman in the lonely cottage on Sussex Downs the week before Christmas is just _too_ cliché – and purses her lips when she sees who’s standing there.

 

“Hello,” says Mary, and Janine breathes once, twice, and then answers.

 

“Hmm.”

 

She leaves the door open behind her, walks straight into the kitchen where she starts up the kettle and pulls down two mugs from the cupboard.  Tea, coffee, sugar, whiskey, milk. 

 

She hears the front door close again.  Leave it to Mary to arrive in the dead of night in the middle of a snowstorm; she’ll demand to stay the night and Janine will let her, of course, because she’s too kind by half.  

 

She can’t hear the rustle of Mary’s coat over the crackle of the fire or the sound of Mary’s footsteps over the clicking of the kettle.

 

She doesn’t need to hear either, though.  She already knows which side of the door Mary’s on, because Mary is many things, but she’s not one to let non-acknowledgement stop her.

 

“I don’t have lemon,” says Janine shortly when Mary reappears in the doorway.  “Or decaf.”

 

“I’ve been invited to Sherlock’s parents’ for Christmas Day.”

 

Janine’s gaze is sharp.  Mary’s baby bump is noticeable now, but otherwise she’s all angles and lines and shadows.  She’d had her hair cut recently – it doesn’t suit her.  The baby is the only soft thing about her.

 

“What’s your hostess gift going to be?  A signed confession?”

 

Mary winces, and Janine turns back to the mugs as the water clicks off.  “Tea or coffee?”

 

“Your choice,” says Mary, and Janine makes them both tea, milk and sugar, exactly the same.  She sets the cups down on the table and takes her seat.  After a moment, Mary joins her.

 

They drink in silence. 

 

“Are you going?” asks Janine finally.

 

“I have to,” says Mary.  Three little words, and Janine despite how well she knows Mary’s voice, can’t read it now.  Courage, bravery, resignation… fear?  Or everything all rolled up.  “John asked.  You know—“

 

Janine sucks in a breath.  “He _asked_?  You mean the Ice King finally _spoke_ to you?”

 

Mary sighs and closes her eyes.  “Neen….”

 

“It’s been what, five _months_ , and he hasn’t said a bloody word, hasn’t shown up at your doctor’s appointment – hasn’t even _asked after his baby_ , and now it’s, ‘Come’, and off you go _running_ to him?”

 

“He’s my husband.”

 

“I’m your _sister_ ,” hisses Janine.  “You wouldn’t even agree to spend the holiday with _me_.  And you _know_ he’s in Sherlock’s bloody pocket, you know you’re walking into a trap.”

 

Mary’s voice is harder now.  Razor-thin and sword-edged, and Janine can hear the resolve there now, recognizes from when they were five, ten, fifteen, and the only problem was how to sneak out of the house without their parents knowing.  “He’s my _husband_ , Janine.  And it might not be my name on the marriage certificate but it sure as bloody _hell_ was me who said the words, and I meant every one of them.”

 

Janine slumps back in the chair.  Breathes in, breathes out.  “I know.  I stood next to you, remember?”

 

“I have to go,” says Mary, and there’s a touch on Janine’s arm.  She can feel the cold sharpness of Mary’s fingers.  “I just… I need you to know.”

 

“In case it’s a trap.”

 

“Oh, it’s a trap,” says Mary, and she almost sounds amused, as if the possibility of it being anything else is laughable. 

 

“Then why _go_?”  Janine wants to take Mary’s hand, grip it tightly in hers, hold Mary down, tie her to the _chair_ , refuse to let her leave the cottage she’s bought with the money she still doesn’t feel like she earned.  She’s not whining, she’s not wailing. 

 

She just wants her sister to stay, be safe, and stop trying to protect her from her own bloody mistakes.

 

Mary smiles like Janine’s said all of this aloud, but Mary’s the bigger sister.  It’s been her job to protect Janine from the day Janine was born. 

 

“Come on,” says Mary.  “I didn’t trek out here for nothing.  Prezzies?”

 

Janine fakes the smile.  She’s very good at faking them.  A lifetime of practice.

 

“Yeah,” she says, and watches her sister like it’s their last night together on Earth.

 


End file.
